Canned Primate
by Laura Harkness
Summary: “Houston, we’ve had a problem.” The two tall, slender men were sprawled outside on a park bench on the Cornell University campus. It was April 13th 1970, the Ides of April. One was wearing a bright orange nylon parka, the other a long wooly brown coat...
1. Chapter 1

**Canned Primate**

"Houston, we've had a problem…"

The two tall, slender men were sprawled outside on a park bench on the Cornell University campus. It was April 13th, the Ides of April, a little before 11pm, and quite chilly. One of them was wearing a rather gaudy bright orange nylon parka over a scratchy turtleneck sweater; the other was wrapped in an ankle-length brown wooly coat, his hands stuck deep into its pockets.

As beleaguered students hurried by in the damp cold, the men's conversation continued in hushed tones.

"That was the first communication we received after the explosion," the man in the orange jacket glanced at his watch before continuing, "about thirty minutes ago."

"Hmm…" said the other man, shaking his head. "Spaceflight. A damned risky business."

"Yes, that's understood. But I contacted you to see if you could help."

"Carl, I don't generally get involved in the timeline that way. You know I don't. There are things I can change and others that I can't… or shouldn't…"

"But we're at a tricky point, Doctor," argued the first man. "We've already had one terrible disaster; I don't think the program can withstand another."

The man in the long brown coat chuckled ruefully. "Yes, I know. You're referring to the Apollo 1 catastrophe – a terrible thing – but there will be other, far worse tragedies, Professor Sagan, they are part of the deal. If you want to venture off your planet you must accept the risks and consequences." He shook his head almost imperceptibly. "You're a fragile species and sending canned primates into space is a questionable practice at best."

Carl Sagan leaned forward and looked askance at The Doctor. "But we want to go to the stars… Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known… Like you!"

The Doctor smiled, "Ah, flattery will get you anywhere. But really, Carl, you humans are like butterflies who flutter for a day and think its forever…" The Time Lord's voice trailed off, his mind momentarily elsewhere.

"What do you mean? Is there an alternative? Nice metaphor, by the way."

"Of course there's an alternative! You've already experimented with it! Send your surrogates. Send smart machines."

Professor Sagan shook his head sadly. "Our machines are a long way off from being that smart…"

"Oh, you'd be surprised."

"How?"

"Well, it won't take that long for you to develop artificial intelligences that will far exceed humanity's mental and physical capabilities. It won't be as easy as some believe, but it will happen. In fact…"

"In fact what?"

"In fact in the distant future those critters are going to cause your descendants some serious problems, Carl, but you're not supposed to know about that now, are you?" Their eyes met; The Doctor smiled brightly and the Professor smiled back at him with equal brilliance. For them it was a familiar rhetorical question.

"Are you saying I'll see such artificial intelligences replace the need for astronauts, for 'canned primates' as you call them? That I'll witness our synthetic surrogates reaching for the stars?"

The Doctor's eyes turned somber. He knew, of course, what the future held for Carl Sagan.

"Let me just say that it's one of the directions you should be seriously investigating."

Carl again looked at his watch. "So you're not going to help them?"

The Doctor stood, plunging his hands even deeper into his coat. "That's what I'm saying." You could see his breath in the damp, frigid air as he spoke. He looked around furtively, and then leaned in closer to his companion. "But do you want to know a secret?"

Carl Sagan nodded his head as he rose from the bench.

"They don't need my help. A solution… a brilliant solution will be found. It won't be easy. Quite the opposite. Success will be born from great hardship. But rather than fail, you will _fix_ the problem, and you will learn from your mistakes. Blimey, but you humans are good at that!"

The Professor smiled in relief and held out his hand to the Time Lord, who energetically shook it.

"Thank you for coming Doctor, I'm sorry I bugged you. Do you want your timepiece back?"

The Doctor, still gripping Carl's hand glanced at the old rectangular-faced watch circling the Professor's right wrist. "No, you hang on to it. It's always nice to visit and if you need me again, you use it."

"Right, thanks. Until next time then?"

"Right!" The Doctor turned and walked away into the night.

--

_"Imagination will often carry us to worlds that never were. But without it we go nowhere."_  
Carl Sagan

**Author's note:** I allude to this conversation in Chapter 6 of "Plague" and for some reason it'd been gnawing at me, wanting to see the light of day. So here it is. We miss you, Carl.


	2. Epilogue

**Carl Sagan**

Carl Edward Sagan (November 9, 1934 – December 20, 1996) was an American astronomer, astrochemist, author, and highly successful popularizer of astronomy, astrophysics and other natural sciences. He pioneered exobiology and promoted the Search for Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence (SETI). He is world-famous for writing popular science books and for co-writing and presenting the award-winning 1980 television series Cosmos: A Personal Voyage, which has been seen by more than 600 million people in over 60 countries, making it the most widely watched PBS program in history.

**A few of his more famous quotes:**

Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known.

Imagination will often carry us to worlds that never were. But without it we go nowhere.

If we long for our planet to be important, there is something we can do about it. We make our world significant by the courage of our questions and by the depth of our answers.

Who are we? We find that we live on an insignificant planet of a humdrum star lost in a galaxy tucked away in some forgotten corner of a universe in which there are far more galaxies than people.

We are made of star stuff. For the most part, atoms heavier than hydrogen were created in the interiors of stars and then expelled into space to be incorporated into later stars. The Sun is probably a third generation star.

We are star stuff which has taken its destiny into its own hands**.** The loom of time and space works the most astonishing transformations of matter.

The Cosmos is all that is or ever was or ever will be. Our feeblest contemplations of the Cosmos stir us — there is a tingling in the spine, a catch in the voice, a faint sensation, as if a distant memory, of falling from a height. We know we are approaching the greatest of mysteries.

For small creatures such as we the vastness is bearable only through love.

The vast distances that separate the stars are providential. Beings and worlds are quarantined from one another. The quarantine is lifted only for those with sufficient self-knowledge and judgement to have safely traveled from star to star.

The universe is not required to be in perfect harmony with human ambition.

We live in a society exquisitely dependent on science and technology, in which hardly anyone knows anything about science and technology.

Skeptical scrutiny is the means, in both science and religion, by which deep thoughts can be winnowed from deep nonsense.

Our species needs, and deserves, a citizenry with minds wide awake and a basic understanding of how the world works.

I am often amazed at how much more capability and enthusiasm for science there is among elementary school youngsters than among college students.

For me, it is far better to grasp the Universe as it really is than to persist in delusion, however satisfying and reassuring.

But the fact that some geniuses were laughed at does not imply that all who are laughed at are geniuses. They laughed at Columbus, they laughed at Fulton, they laughed at the Wright Brothers. But they also laughed at Bozo the Clown.

All of the books in the world contain no more information than is broadcast as video in a single large American city in a single year. Not all bits have equal value.

I can find in my undergraduate classes, bright students who do not know that the stars rise and set at night, or even that the Sun is a star.

We have also arranged things so that almost no one understands science and technology. This is a prescription for disaster. We might get away with it for a while, but sooner or later this combustible mixture of ignorance and power is going to blow up in our faces.

We are like butterflies who flutter for a day and think it's forever. (And now _we _know he lifted that from The Doctor!)


End file.
